


Cherry Temptation

by glamorouspixels



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Romance, Sexual Tension, garden party, smutty discussions of ice cream, smutty use of fruit and whipped cream and champagne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamorouspixels/pseuds/glamorouspixels
Summary: When Phryne hosts a garden party, she and Jack discover the seductive power of ice cream and its toppings.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Cherry Temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RositaLG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RositaLG/gifts).



> This is inspired by [Boxing Day Part I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326790/chapters/12493073) and [Part II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326790/chapters/12708656) by RositaLG, from the 2015 Christmas Phrack. I was very kindly given permission to write a full fic based on the smutty bits mentioned in these stories. Thank you! <3 I'm sorry I didn't stick to the original setting. My brain refused to make it happen, which is why this took so long. And then, when I was finally done, I decided to rewrite the whole thing because I didn't like it. Which was exhausting. Also, shoutout to batard_loaf for doing the most thorough beta read I've ever seen 😂

“Hello, Hugh!” Sunlight glinted off the front door’s glass panes, casting Phryne in an amber shine. “Look at you! How much you’ve grown since I last saw you. It’s been what, a whole week?!”

“Um…” Hugh was a whirlwind of dismay and fluster as she pulled him in like a grandmother might. A bottle of champagne in hand, Jack stood in line and awaited his turn.

Their eyes met over Hugh’s shoulder. Jack’s love for her glowed all the warmer for the look he pictured on his Constable’s face. She even had the nerve to wink at him; a wretched cough helped him refrain from laughter.

“Why don’t you go on ahead?” Mischief breaking across her face, Phryne tilted her head into the dimness of the hall, down towards the swelling music. “Your wife has been  _ dying  _ to receive you,” she told Hugh in a stage whisper, pulling a face. “Figuratively speaking.”

A hearty slap on the shoulder – just this side of too hard – sent him on his way. Hugh’s staggering footfalls dissolved as Jack nervously twisted the bottle in his hands. The smooth texture of the glass was a cool and moist one, made more so by his tingling palms.

Phryne’s gaze, as it found him, was pure love and sufficed to ground him – not settling him, not quite, but  _ rooting  _ him to the slabs of stone of the pathway. Gone was the need to nudge Hugh aside and take his place; her eyes were of such a vivid light as to nearly fluster him.

It seemed the same dilemma had befallen her. Words appeared temporarily sticky, rendered this way by shyness and the humid breeze. Phryne was the first to dislodge herself. She pried the bottle from his hands and took off after the other man. “Take this to the kitchen, will you?” She called out.

“Of course, Miss,” came the earnest – albeit unnerved – acknowledgment.

“Jack,” Phryne beamed upon returning, coming to a halt before the door. Still, he hung back, allowing her to look him wonderingly up and down, and took her bashful smile with adoration.

His heart twisting not insubstantially, he acknowledged in turn, “Miss Fisher.”

She waved him inside, and darkness encased them as the door clicked shut. Jack drew close and intended to kiss her hello, but she bridged the gap by embracing him. It was a rather pleasant surprise. While one hand wrapped around his narrow waist, Phryne felt his firm and muscled back beneath the other. Stroking his shirt’s sun-warmed fabric, she melted into his tender grasp.

“And here I thought Hugh was looking particularly dashing,” she admitted, surprised at her own strong reaction. “Silly me.” As she twisted her head so she might study him, Phryne’s hair tickled first his throat, bare where his shirt lay unbuttoned, and then the chiseled stroke that made up his jawline. Her unoccupied hand slid from the thin cotton, following the curve of his braces over his chest.

“Would you like me to go and fetch him for you?” Jack’s nails at her nape made her purr and nudge him.

Despite her little snort, her tone remained mild and slightly teasing. “You two appear to have schemed against us. How  _ is _ a girl to resist your charms?”

The pair swayed a little under Jack’s chuckle. “I had a quick shower at the station, is all. Was I correct in my assumption that I’d be staying the night?” If washing at the station came part and parcel with casual dress and unkempt hair – through which he raked a hand subconsciously, nearly forcing her to have him on the spot – Phryne mourned the missed opportunities.

“Of course, love,” she answered his question. “It’s been too long.” Jack honored her look of longing by dipping his head to kiss her, a meeting of lips as tender as it was comforting. Her lips were soft as they lazily opened, and a silent shudder stiffened them both as their tongues met briefly.

“I agree,” Jack murmured and tipped her head so that he could kiss her forehead, to which Phryne gave a sigh of delight. Pulling back a little, his hands stayed steady on her shoulders. “Is that a new dress?”

“Picked up just for the occasion,” confirmed Phryne. “Do you like it?” He made a show of studying her, prolonged by silence and an eyebrow critically raised.

“Tease,” she accused. 

What wasn’t there to like? Her dress was a sweeping, plum-colored number that hugged her small breasts, then fell to her knees in a cascade of ruffles. The material parted below her hips, unveiling a second layer. Against its dusty nuance gleamed the alabaster softness of her skin. She couldn’t have been more beautiful, a fact of which he readily informed her.

His flattery reaped another smile, this one so soft that she turned her head shyly. “What was the champagne all about?” Taking his arm, Phryne led him down the hall of shadows. “Another bottle you stole from my aunt’s?” 

Jack huffed as her hip bumped his. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t steal them; the chef handed them to me.”

“Because he thought you were on your way to the ballroom!”

“And you, Miss Fisher, told me to wait in the car.”

“There’s really no need to make excuses, Jack,” she purred, brushing her nose over his jaw in teasing. Phryne smiled, recalling the power of the wayward bottle and the night of tipsy passion it had brought them; not even Dot could’ve salvaged those underthings.

“Here we are!”

“Looks like it,” mumbled Jack. Daylight returned as they passed into the back garden and surveyed the gathering, though one of them felt far more dismay than the other. Watching their guests from the doorway, Jack’s legs itched to turn and make for his car.

There were Hugh and Mr. Butler, the farthest removed from the rest of the group. Dot was circling Cec and Bert, failing to divide the howling pair. There appeared no easy means of separation, so transfixed were they on the table on which tubs of ice cream had been arranged. Jack remained unmoving as they piled their bowls with scoop after scoop of the sweet dessert; slowly, bright colors melted into a sickly grey but they continued to stack upon their bowls.

Suppressing a tiny chuckle, Jack turned to watch his Constable: Hugh, whose attention was trained on addressing Dot, advanced on the group and retreated almost rhythmically.

Jack muttered, brushing the words over Phryne’s ear, “Perhaps Collins would have been better off with you, after all.” A smile he had expected, but not the minute shudder that came instead.

“How much longer, do you think, until he talks to her?” Phryne was all dark eyes and cheeks of scarlet, her thumb traversing his bicep’s width.

“Surely he’ll have a mind to draw near before the night is up,” Jack decided, cursing the lump in his throat at the display of her desire. “Talking, on the other hand…”

Just then, Mr. Butler passed by with a tray of soda, which left Jack to all but skitter from Phryne’s side. “Good evening, Mr. Butler,” he greeted as loudly as his gritted teeth allowed.

“So glad to see you, Inspector.”

“So glad,” Phryne echoed Mr. Butler’s sentiment, before taking a chance in scooting in and ever so softly peppering Jack’s cheek in kisses. Pride burst inside her as he blushed but stayed perfectly still.

“Shouldn’t you be seeing to your guests?” Jack inquired, rather half-heartedly. Of their proximity, their laughing guests were none the wiser, a prospect more thrilling than he cared to admit.

Phryne made a wry face. “Oh, they seem perfectly entertained to me.” Bert was cheering on a whooping Cec, who had wrapped his monstrous dish in a coating of cherries. “It’s not like I could blame them,” she went on, “Mr. B came up with some marvelous confections. I think you’ll like them.”

When Cec and Bert stumbled onwards, Phryne pulled Jack along to survey the spread. “Any suggestions in particular?” Jack asked, letting the shock of flavors surround him, ranging from gentlest peach to a strawberry red so deep as to draw from crimson.

“Well,” Phryne began; the instinct to bolt returned with her gleeful smile. “There’s coconut, violet... and green tea, if you so fancy it.”

“What?” His fancy barely reached beyond vanilla; perhaps raspberry, if he was feeling adventurous.

“It’s really rather tasty,” she chided. “But,” a meaningful pause followed, “I do prefer something richer. A more…velvety taste. Positively aromatic.”

A shiver of arousal shot down Jack’s spine, molten need tightening his body. Her eyes were sure and squarely on his, blown pupils settling on his own stormy blue. The notion of a public meeting had been a foolish one, leaving nowhere to turn and taste what was sweeter to him than any confection.

“You’ve not tried honey ice cream?” She challenged sweetly, having seen his flustered face. Upon accepting the waffle cone she handed him, Jack saw the edge of her tongue sliding back between her tinted lips, tantalizing him. “It seems like just your thing.” Phryne turned away all too swiftly, surveying the flavors available and leaving him to quiver and want like some silly schoolboy.

“Oh!” Her hand brushed his as she reached past him for a scoop, sending an electric shiver through their bodies. “Black cherry, Jack,” she explained rather too sensuously for their present environment. “Known for its silky sweetness and  _ incredibly _ juicy flesh, the heart-shaped fruit lends itself perfectly to a heaping scoop of ice cream. See?”

Jack almost didn’t want to look. Well, he did – damn her – though in a more intimate, quieter setting. One in which he might give back as he liked, no care for the distant voices.

The pliant scoop of ice cream glinted in the golden sun, silky as her frock’s pale plum; but what filled his vision were her shocking lips, round and parted, and the tip of her tongue. It stroked the frozen treat almost seductively, making tender circles to free a frozen cherry that had wedged itself inside. Jack took a breath with fragile lungs as, still regarding him, she sucked it into the seal of her lips and his cock gave a jealous stir.

“Fascinating,” he mumbled, his face aflame.

“And what specialty has caught your eye tonight?” Phryne asked not one second after he’d faced the containers. He wasn’t at all considering the implications of her statement; her mouth on him, or his tongue inside her squirming center, were obviously the furthest things from his mind.

“Lemon?!” She gasped. “Couldn’t have picked a blander flavor.”

“You stick with your juicy flesh, Miss Fisher, but what I’m craving is the lemon’s fresh, simple taste.”

“But darling,” she brushed a hand down his exposed forearm, “it’s been so long.”

His own scoop planted, Jack turned to her and eyed her cone – which she was, of course, cradling in both hands and slowly stroking.

He should have kept his distance, replaced the scoop, and joined her guests. Except he didn’t; another glance confirmed the guests’ distraction, and he came so near that even Phryne stilled. “I’m always game for a second helping,” he challenged, making his voice dip deliciously low.

Jack glanced at her lips, then lower still. When he added, “Or a third,” he did so with the madness of a ravenous man. In leaning forward, the line of her dress had fallen away and revealed the tops of her delicate breasts – their subtle curves were draped in nothing but shadows.

“Fine,” she declared upon straightening. Jack blinked twice, rather rapidly. “But I get to prepare you a second dish and make it just the way I like it. Once these two have surrendered the toppings.” She tilted her head at Cec and Bert, who had turned to abuse of the chocolate sauce.

“Deal,” agreed Jack.

“Come, now. We’ve a lot of catching up to do.” 

The sheltered corner to which she led him was unfamiliar to Jack. Between vines and streaks of twilight, a wide sun lounger stood hidden, liberally cushioned and waiting to take on her slight weight.

She kicked off her shoes – a match for her lipstick’s dark ruby – and took a seat like a queen atop her throne. Jack, who lowered himself to the lounger’s edge, caught the slender foot with which she poked him, looking instantly displeased to have given in.

He accepted his fate with a tiny shrug, but Phryne’s smile of mirth was quickly done for as he set to rubbing her sensitive skin. “Now, Jack,” she began, the cone rather nicely concealing her blush. “How was your day?”

“No more interesting than yours, I can imagine.”

The current of noise faded into the background until they felt nearly alone, talking companionably for a few moments as clouds streaked past. The heated looks were a constant stream, though tamed by the joy of their closeness.

As the tales and touches kept on coming, so did Jack’s glimpses of Phryne’s lips, where a maroon stain remained despite her lipstick’s thinning. Plush and parting, teasing the soft treat with every lick.

“Keep looking, will you?” Phryne’s other foot came up to shove him, her toes digging at his thigh. “I may do another trick.”

She shuffled around to curve against him, the others’ voices returning louder as she did. Watching him, Phryne dipped her mouth to the dark pink scoop. As she enclosed its top and slid off slowly, making a low hum at the back of her throat, raw desperation coiled inside him.

“How badly do you want it?”

Jack’s fingers flexed upon her lower back. “What?”

“How badly do you want the ice cream?” She was so close, Jack felt the frosty fumes that her cone emitted, and, a warm contrast, her lips as they hovered before his. Impulse took over as their eyes fell shut, their heads tilting from muscle memory. Phryne’s breath slowed in preparation...and a sizzling noise caused her to jump.

All unwillingly, she pulled back, drawn by distant laughter and fascinated shouts.

“Just what we need,” she muttered, extracting herself from Jack’s soft grip. When she stood, their surroundings sharpened into view. Between her thighs, a harsh throbbing and the build-up of familiar wetness made itself known. 

“Hold this,” requested Phryne, pressing her cone into his palm. Caught up and reluctant to withdraw, she added: “And don’t start licking without me.”

Then, all too swiftly, she was gone. “Boys! What did I say about fountain syrup in the ice cream freezer?” That was the last he heard from her.

Phryne sauntered off, only to be seized around the waist and lifted by a cackling Cec. Jack caught a glimpse of Hugh and Dot as well, gone into hiding while Bert advanced smugly. Shrieking with laughter, Phryne clawed half-heartedly at the traitorous grasp but succumbed to the finger that pressed whipped cream upon her nose.

A race across the lawn ensued, a bare-footed Phryne chasing the two men. Her dress whispered behind her as her smooth black hair became one with the descending darkness. Joy was written across both their faces as Jack watched, and true to his word, her ice cream never made it to his lips.

Phryne came back grinning, breathless, and rosily flushed. She carried a tall glass of soda, the brown contents of which sizzled menacingly.

“Would you like some coffee-flavored fountain soda with your ice cream?” Phryne inquired sweetly. One glance at him and her blood was boiling; when she sat beside him, it was with her thighs pressed close to form a tight line.

“Er...no, thank you.”

“You’ve shown extraordinary restraint...yet again.” Displeasure laced the warm tone of her voice. Jack glanced at last at the somewhat sunken ice cream in his hand; she was right, though he hadn’t noticed. The world had a habit of fading when he looked at her.

“What can I say, Miss Fisher? There are other, more  _ refined _ flavors that I find myself craving.”

“Is that so?” Once he gave a hum of affirmation, there came the tiny sound of her quickening breath. “What's in it for me?” She wondered aloud. “Are you...rather inclined to share the pleasure?” With that, she caught the wrist of his occupied hand. Having it freed from Phryne’s cone, Jack proved enticed enough to let her sprinkle his fingers in filthy kisses.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jack hissed, feeling the world narrow to the touch of her dampened tongue. Her response came as a little bite to his index finger, which trapped it against the scrape of her teeth.

Her licking warmed the calloused pad – and, oh, a tender moan escaped her. “Oh, they’re all otherwise occupied,” Phryne assured him. The ice cream returned to its rightful owner’s lips. Sliding from her mouth left him strangely bereft; no more cone, nothing to grasp as she played him like a fiddle. “See? No one will suspect a thing.”

The world didn’t end when she kissed him. Neither did earth change its course from her tongue’s soft probing, or from the cherry tinge that her own aroma held. She tasted warm and like sweet desire, a flavor he chased in claiming her mouth. From those clever lips and the edge of her palate, Jack let it melt against the surface of his tongue.

“I do hope your appetites extend beyond the sweetness of the cherry,” Phryne whispered after a while, when the need to breathe became a serious thing. Had she pulled back any further, their guests’ low murmur would’ve drowned her out.

“Always, Phr-”

“Oi! Miss Fisher!”

Jack’s hand dropped from her tender cheek. After many months of unwanted practice, they’d perfected the art of startling swiftly. Phryne was reserved as she removed herself.

“Coming, Bert!” She shouted in a voice like the sweetest poison.

***

“Ugh, finally.” Watching Jack’s approach, Phryne groaned a sigh of relief. His face, in the night, was mostly shadowed, and the grass whispered around his bare feet. Jack, his eyebrow raised in a silent question, took an easy seat at her side, next to a bowl of fruit and a lonely piping bag. The only one her search had redeemed.

“What?” Phryne challenged, a slice of peach, whipped cream upon it, caught halfway to her parted lips. The cream was tinged a gentle pink; it held its stiff shape rather nicely. “You know I like you all to myself,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Waiting makes the heart grow fonder?” Shooting her a little smile, Jack surrendered the bottle he’d fetched from the kitchen; the lavish champagne from before the feast.

“So does making love to you whenever I please.”

Their guests had taken their leave with the sunset, and little remained of Phryne’s prior strength. Her lipstick was gone and her focus drifted. The fruit lay forgotten as she watched Jack stretch. Resting on his side proved satisfactory; from the new angle, the moonlight descended on her reclining form. The tops of her thighs, cast in a shine of ethereal silver, were barely covered by the hem of her dress.

They reached for the bowl in the same instant. Phryne’s aim was another serving, but Jack – she chuckled – began a path of fruit down her unclothed leg. Where he was busy at work, her skin adopted a fruity tint. Red and orange, wandering down her alabaster skin. Jack’s mouth watered deliciously.

“Enjoying yourself?” She inquired, dropping another piece into her mouth, and her tongue darted out to catch a heavy drop. Together, they eyed the line he’d made from hem to knee and the sticky moisture that was forming there.

“Very much. Thank you.”

Jack lowered his mouth to the supple flesh, making her breath hitch. He felt all too pleased with himself for lifting a piece – a cutting of kiwi, leaving ample moisture behind – from her leg with only his tender lips. All the while, his hot gaze held her, effectively pinning her to the spot.

Her thin dress was a wall between them as he cleaned her of the fruit, and Phryne shook with the effort of stillness. Warm drizzles of juice adorned her, which Jack gathered up with the flat of his tongue – or tried to, getting as far as the midpoint at best.

Off came her dress, rather suddenly; she was left bare save for her knickers, and desperately wanting atop the picnic blanket on which she sat. Her cunt – no, her whole body – had been thrumming ever since he’d first touched her with his lips.

Though just now, his frantic finger pointed at the house ahead. Some downstairs lights still glowed, illuminating the distress that had put Jack at a distance. Pure desire filled Phryne’s veins, burning so hot that no interruption could deter her. Not while she studied the merits of jumping him.

“Jack,” she released a breath of mock-affront, nonetheless made shaky with impatience. “It was barely past midnight when Mr. B got up to make the base. Don't you know  _ anything _ about making ice cream?”

Reassured that they were alone, Jack seemed fairly indifferent as to why that was. His eyes were on the hand that had flown to her chest – and possibly what lay beneath it – in her exasperated act.

“Here, take this.” Phryne hoped the piping bag might move things along. She rolled over for good measure, entrusting her back to his explorations. First came the fruit, sun-warmed and moist, before the whipped cream upped the stakes and left her breathless, and her face dropped to the crook of her arm.

“Isn’t it ingenious, Jack?” She asked in a precious moment of finding her speech. “This is marshmallow fluff, from America. While I quite thoroughly enjoy whipped cream’s light texture, this...sticky, thicker formula lends itself to even the most precarious and  _ slick _ of surfaces. Yes, right there...” She curved upwards and into the air.

Next on Jack’s list was his tongue’s gentle roaming, starting at the tender skin at the small of her back, echoing from there through the whole soft canvas of her skin. Little pearls of sweat painted her like stardust; he licked them up with the fervor of desire long pent up. Often he faltered ever so slightly, hit by the earthy velvet of Phryne’s own skin, her shudders, and soft throaty moans.

The stiff, unmoving peaks of the cream astounded him for all of two seconds before his own erection nearly scalded Jack, and he bit down around a point of cream that was particularly dense. His touch was all the lusher for his initial fear; guilt and passion were of equal strength within him.

“I once knew a rather excellent confectioner,” she was babbling now, a sound far off and lustfully twisted. “Fuck, Jack!”

A tear; her knickers. The removal of which allowed him to connect the dots, to cover her thighs and the rise of her buttocks. She was a taut line of alabaster, nectar and cream sitting heavily on Jack’s tongue. Flares of gooseflesh erupted in his wake as he licked and nipped at the creamy globes, firmly massaging the now sticky flesh. 

By the time he reached her thighs’ soft insides – where the heady scent of her arousal was strong – Phryne felt ready to explode, trying to rock into the sun-warmed grass beneath her, not caring about the late-night dew.

Turning, she yanked Jack down into a bruising kiss, keeping him close with fragile fingers. The honeyed liquor clung to his tongue, warmed it, and made her dizzy; so much so that she reverted to the heaviest weapons in her arsenal. She forced a hand between their writhing bodies, where she palmed and tugged at his throbbing cock to the point of torture. Next came the promise of her squirming heat, brought near as her slender legs encircled his waist and all but rubbed him raw.

That first time at Café Réplique, Jack had proven a rather talented kisser, leaving little room for doubt about the accompanying arts. The only downside was his own control over the skill, powerful enough to cause her inquisitive hand to weaken, leaving her wrinkling his shirt as she clutched at him. He was all rough need and searing tongue, but remained disturbingly steady apart from it.

The thick woolen trousers proved a problem, one for which she could make no excuse. Phryne kicked blindly at the picnic blanket, needing it gone, before a hand on her breast interrupted her. It was the kind of touch that made them both shoot upright.

“Bed?” Jack’s tone lacked the necessary firmness, and she sucked on his sticky fingers in response.

“But Jack,” Phryne protested as his fingers grazed the wetness of her lower lip, “what a shame it would be to allow such a  _ fruitful  _ opportunity to decay. Don’t you agree?” 

She permitted the fleeting loss of the taste of him, just long enough to snag a bite of strawberry from the bowl. Something inside her was set alight as her tongue dampened the warm plump fruit, upon watching him adjust to her twisted musings.

“Mmmh. Lie down?”

“Gladly.” She smiled around the bursting skin of the berry, biting down with decided teeth. Using a hand on her back to guide her, he came up slightly sticky from beneath. As he connected their lips again, Jack was little more than greedy desire, led completely by his hands on her skin. Under a breast as pale as porcelain, he felt the roaring thunder of her beating heart.

“Jack Robinson,” she broke away as a panting puddle. “Did you just wipe your hand on me?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I intend to clean up my mess. It’s what you want, is it not?” That did it: Phryne was sure there was no other man as warm and eager, as relentlessly thoughtful as Jack in his adoration.

“Do your worst, Inspector.” Her grin was wide with love and his heart nearly stopped. Her entire body tingling with anticipation, she folded her arms behind her head and succumbed to Jack’s calculating gaze.

The piping bag’s cool tip came down almost instantly, though not where she’d expected it but underneath her jaw, which he cupped gently to examine the outcome. More dabs followed in abundance, each one a challenge to her aim to remain still. “Oh, yes,” Phryne whispered almost shyly, as she often did when Jack paid special attention to the slope of her neck.

He knew just where she was the most responsive. Which was, well, everywhere. From below her ear – her swept-back hair revealed the fleshy spot – over the arch of her throat and to the hard protrusions of her collarbones.

While every drop there wound her tighter, it couldn’t hold a candle to having her nipples coated in the stuff. Encasing them from base to tip, weighing on her sensitive areolae. Then came a long and aggravating line; from the crease of her breasts and down her belly, just teasing the wiry hair between her legs.

Phryne gave a shudder of delight as she waited for his next advance. And waited...and waited.

“You done?” She asked impatiently, breaking a silence that was as thick as the spent day’s sunshine.

Jack chuckled, his gaze prying at her clenching thighs. “Almost.” He studied the luscious display, the artwork he’d made in soft-hued tones, beneath which the sweetest of flavors awaited him. She was spread out and squirming, thoroughly prepared to be feasted on.

He cleaned up some excess with a particularly juicy piece, groaning when he brushed her open lips with it. “Good?” Jack asked softly, revelling somewhat in her frenzied nod and her glistening mouth as she took it gladly.

The piece devoured and his fingers sucked clean, he followed the cream like a trail towards treasure. His tongue snuck out to taste the hollow of her throat; his lips closed over her collarbones, going down her breasts and up again, returning to gather what he hadn’t yet caught.

He fought the dryness in his throat by teasing and licking at her nipple, careful lips collecting the cherries he’d placed there with a cheeky smile. Phryne groaned in relief as the weight was lifted. Then louder, feeling Jack’s tongue settle upon her. His initial licks were intimate and tight and never strayed past the hardened nubs, leaving marks of red on her pretty breasts before he sucked one whole like an ice cream cone.

“More, Jack, can you-”

Phryne sat and sobbed when her breast pushed in deeper. As she found purchase in the scrape of his teeth, tangling her fingers in Jack’s unkempt hair took the utmost priority. But even that objective disappeared; her mind went blank. As he swallowed, that wide serious mouth minutely shifting around her delicate breast and the force of the movement pulling at her nipple, Jack stared directly into her teary eyes.

The sweetened cream didn’t last forever, and before long Jack was on his wicked way. He took equal care of her soft belly, but nipped at its subtle curve when he found her watching. Phryne groaned a loud, desperate groan. Never before had the sight moved him as now, when she was close to bursting, red, and covered down her front in the rosy balm of juice and whipped cream.

“Close your eyes.”

“Make me,” retorted Phryne, not expecting the warm, wet kiss into which he pulled her, abandoning restraint at last. His lips floated from hers, leaving the taste of her own body’s sweetness but stealing his touch. “And no peeking,” she heard as if from afar.

“I never make promises I cannot keep.” Though close her eyes she did, albeit gloomily.

It all proved worth it when Jack sucked her creamy thigh against his mouth, manipulating it thoroughly as she squirmed against him, making sure not to leave a trace. When a glance confirmed that she wasn’t looking, he reached beside her to grasp the bowl, in which a meager jumble of fruit had lingered.

He picked a piece at random, staring as he dipped it in the warm, musky essence of her sex. “What does this feel like, Miss Fisher? I trust you’ve kept your eyes shut tight?” Watching the frantic clench of her cunt around air, Jack nearly choked on the words.

“Oh! Is that...cherries?” Damn him – not one forthright touch and she was shaking, crying, feeling too damn weak to deny his game. A reward for her correct assumption, he held it up by the junction of the stem and let the darkened fruit encase her clit, dragging a slippery line upwards from her entrance.

She gave a broken scream when he pulled back, the tight coil inside her wickedly twisting. “And now?” Jack inquired, his mouth, this time, warm and open against her sticky skin. This new chunk was larger, and rougher in texture than its predecessor; the slide of juices over her folds was distinct.

“A strawberry?” She asked breathlessly. Then, upon his next return, “A slice of peach?”

“Very good,” he praised. “Kept a close eye on the contents of the bowl, did you? One more thing.”

Phryne was too far gone to further indulge him – no matter. The kiwi in his hand was ripe and loaded, its juices flowing at the barest touch. Perfect for squeezing, he noted with a heady thrill.

It was an urge all too easy to succumb to, and her muted hiss made an instant reward.

In a fit of frenzy – stemming not in the least from the thrill of the open setting and the quiet rustle of a summer breeze – he adorned the ruby of her sharply glistening clit with a smear of cream. The heel of her hand muffled Phryne’s scream and full-body twitch with debatable success, and he was sure Mr. Butler’s sleep stood no chance against his teasing.

“Perfect,” Jack breathed then onto the delicate skin between her legs.

“Jaaack…”

“Just...admiring my handiwork.” But he couldn’t ask her to wait. Not now, not when all he wanted was to eat the cream and drink the juice and sip Phryne clean of her cunt’s velvety fragrance.

“Would you terribly mind admiring it with your tongue?” That, however, made him chuckle against her tender sex.

“As my lady commands,” he conceded, nostrils flaring to breathe her aroma, which was strong and compellingly sweetened by the lavish nature of the fruit. 

Jack licked a streak from her sensitive entrance, stopping just short of her throbbing clit. Phryne’s thighs nearly smothered him – they yanked him close, face-first against her pussy – and he relished that furious press as he tongue-fucked her.

Glancing up over her muddle of curls, he watched what each thrust did to her and heard the whimpers and moans he drew from her body. Phryne scrambled to grasp his hair as his tongue plunged inside and swirled in her juices, warm and silky without the fruit.

Her decorated clit he left for last, after leisurely licking her free of the nectar. Jack made drawn-out, lazy strokes, savoring her until the stars danced before her eyes.

All at once, he opted for mercy. He drew her clit into the seal of his lips, smiling when she twitched against him. Her legs enclosed his entire head. Served him right, he supposed, though there were worse ways to go than wanton suffocation. He pushed two fingers into her cunt and curled them swiftly, at the same time stroking the swollen nub, which was encased in the whipped cream’s sweet flavor.

Gone was the relative silence; banished were the soft mewling and her breathy cries. As a screaming release gripped Phryne’s entire body, her own white-knuckled hand clenched around her sticky breast. Starlight swam before her vision, and she ground her sex against Jack’s open mouth.

He brought her down with tender licking and murmurs of love and her unmatched sweetness; though between her clenching cunt and the rush of her blood, she felt only the low-toned vibration of Jack’s voice. At first by her entrance as he licked her gently clean, then beside her head after a moment.

“In need of some light refreshments, Miss Fisher?” She took the proffered peach with lips still tender, and the laugh that escaped her was weaker still. The nectar burst against her tongue; pulling him up, she caught Jack’s lips to share the bliss.

“Let me return the favor?” Phryne breathed and began to undress him. Her tone belied the reluctance that she knew would come. “Oh, you’re no fun at all,” she pouted upon seeing it.

But… If she wasn’t mistaken – and she very rarely was – curiosity shone in his darkened eyes. Phryne’s face grew serious, an endeavor made harder by his tiny nod.

She poured her all into another kiss, hoping Jack wouldn’t notice that her hand was elsewhere, and reached beside him as his tongue pried at her sticky lips and licked away the remaining syrup.

She closed her hand around the neck of the champagne bottle, guiding it close with renewed focus. The cork went flying rather unceremoniously, and the sound of fizzing interrupted their kiss.

“Oh!” The manner of her gasp brought theatricals to mind. “My strength must have evaded me. The cork up and jumped straight out the bottle!”

“After the bottle jumped at you from behind my back?”

“It seems that way…” Phryne’s whisper was distracted.

Together, they followed the path of the sticky liquid, watching the golden stardust trapped inside. It landed squarely on his breastbone and parted into long, bubbly trails covered his nipples and the chiseled outlines of his chest. Onward, the flow continued – much, much lower, dripping from Jack’s muscled thighs.

As for his cock, which strained up into the summer air… Well, if she’d happened to tilt the bottle just above it, that was probably a happy coincidence.

“Can’t waste the champagne now,” she stated, soft wonder touching her voice. “Here, let me help.” A hesitant touch of her tongue against his skin, and Phryne was groaning and dizzy with pleasure. Like she had before him, he shook and whimpered at each breath of a touch. Gentle, teasing licks caressed his nipples, his upper arms, and the width of his chest, where she applied a much stronger pressure.

Jack plunged a hand into the mess of her hair, guiding her to his cock, but she continued past it and settled at his flexing thighs. Dipping between them, sucking the sensitive insides on which the bubbles sat.

Jack whispered her name, an incantation; but whimpered loudly when she moved again. He froze, observing her destination. Not in displeasure, or fear, yet the sensation as she sipped champagne from his belly button was a curious one.

The champagne caressed him warmly, and he quivered at the pull of Phryne’s mouth and the little curses she murmured against his skin. It was…startlingly thorough, both her tongue and the push of her hands, which were strongly kneading his muscled thighs.

“Phryne!” He yelped again – without warning, the light suction on his skin had gone and been replaced by a warmer, stronger, wetter kind, in a different place.

She grinned up from around the plump head of his cock, over which she’d poured another generous helping of champagne. “Shhh, I’m here,” she tried to calm him, although her caressing palm had the opposite effect. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

While what she was doing was wonderful by all means, all he could do was shake and praise her filthy mouth. And her hands, both of which moved in bubbly, lubricated strokes. She released gentle hums along his length as she sucked his heavy cock, and she was flitting along, teasing him. Floating upward, escaping each of his minuscule thrusts.

His head thumped against her tidy lawn – though he’d wanted furiously to keep upright – the night sky flickering before his closing eyes. Lifting his head, his eyes forced open, Jack reached a hand into her messy hair. God, he felt his own cock through the blushing, tender skin of her cheek. Phryne alternated between taking him deep, letting the delicate skin at the back of her throat engulf him, and sliding him slowly down the flat of her tongue.

Jack feared that his taste would rather pale against the champagne’s sweet flavor; he needn’t have worried. Phryne greedily swallowed the hot streaks of his pleasure when he came, groaning as they hit the back of her throat. One of her hands, he could see now, had slipped from his cock and between her thighs, where she tipped herself over into another swift climax.

Caught by the power of her untamed gaze, Jack tried in vain to get his pounding heart under control. Phryne was of no assistance – behind the hand that wiped her mouth clean, a satisfied grin appeared, recounting all the promises she’d kept.

“Still want that ice cream that I promised you?” Her head took a rest on Jack’s sticky thigh. “I was trained rather marvelously in preparing it. Take two scoopfuls of vanilla ice cream, to be topped with crushed cherries and marshmallow cream…” In a typical Phryne fashion, she left him not one moment to catch his breath; thoughtful fingers chased the shadows from his thighs, tracing his defined muscles. “Another rich, ripe cherry completes the dish,” she concluded dreamily.

“I’m never eating again,” groaned Jack and earned a chuckle. “You’ve rather tired me out, Miss Fisher.”

“And you love me for it,” she accused more softly than her position – at eye-level with his spent cock – called for.

“Mmmh. And you? Care for another drink?”

Phryne let out a huff-turned-moan, welcoming the fingers that scratched at her scalp. “No, I’ve had my fill.” To demonstrate, she stole a speedy lick at the length of his cock, then pulled herself up as Jack timidly jumped, and covered them both in the discarded blanket.

“We’ll get up eventually,” said Phryne into the crook of his neck, breathing Jack in, letting her arms surround him.

“Certainly,” he agreed, running a hand along her back. A continuous roaming, up and down; yet inconsequential as the night swept by.

“I’m sure of it.” Her eyes closing, Phryne saw nothing more of the stars and the onyx sky between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me about the ice cream flavors. I've decided they're accurate so that's what we're dealing with 😂 Also, the word count was an accident. My original plan was to keep this under 4000 words and then it just...kept going. I hope this was somewhat okay, though? Thank you for reading! <3


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